


So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect), ch. 3 and 4

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-06
Updated: 2008-03-06
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:30:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: When Alex Krycek met Dean Winchester, it was not luck. He deserved it.





	So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect), ch. 3 and 4

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Look at those two gorgeous guys. Then think "out of the box" and enjoy the story.  
> 

  
Author's notes: Look at those two gorgeous guys. Then think "out of the box" and enjoy the story.  


* * *

So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect), ch. 3 and 4

## So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect), ch. 3 and 4

### by Griva

##### [Story Headers]

  


So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect)  
Chapters 3 and 4   
Fandom: the X Files/ Supernatural   
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Alex Krycek   
POV: Krycek's   
Rating: R now, later NC-17   
Beta'd by Courtney Gray 

***CHAPTER 3**  
**SATURDAY***

Today was his last day here, Alex made a promise when he showed up around ten pm. This place wasn't the hub of the world. Either he makes a move on the hustler or he leaves without a look back. That nothing has happened so far insulted his intelligence and made him dangerously angry at himself. 

Entering Paw's he got additional proof he could never blend in as a true American. The crowd was watching baseball, a sport that celebrated putting all your brains in your muscles, in Alex's opinion. The cheering and betting was growing by the second. The TV drew everybody to the bar stand, there was only one drooling old drunk at the poker table, sound asleep. But then some chick squealed; Alex hadn't heard a sound that unnerving since he witnessed a calf being castrated. Apparently it meant their favorite team was winning. 

Passing Dean in the hall, Alex met his eyes and nodded. He nodded back, solemn, unsmiling. Dean's appearance had changed little from the previous night. But where it did, it was only for the worse. He looked like he hadn't been making sleep a priority, or food either. Shadows under his eyes looked even darker and stubble added to his worn out look. Alex felt Dean's eyes heavy on his back, and was not surprised at all when he felt footsteps follow him into the john. 

Alex liked to pick up rough trade. He liked it in alleyways, behind parked trucks, inside derelict buildings, in the dark corners of apartment hall landings. He liked doing it with young men whose eyes glistened with anger at their own desires. Maybe finally they would make some progress here. It's been a while since he'd had a quick dirty blowjob behind barely closed stall doors. 

While Alex stood at the urinal, Dean stood almost behind him, unbuttoning the collar of his checkered shirt, then splashing water on his face. Alex turned his head and caught Dean's eyes in the mirror. He'd experienced something like this before; his stomach felt punched and time felt laced with hidden meanings. The man was clearly sending off some signals, but it was not open hostility and it was not a check-out. It felt like a jammed transmission. Not knowing what else it COULD be made Alex nervous. Maybe his holster showed? He moved his hand carefully under his coat, as if adjusting his clothes. Everything was in place. After yesterday's adventure with Dean, Alex decided that to go out unarmed was imprudent. When Alex turned around, the other man was tucking his undershirt into his jeans as he turned to walk out of the john. Dry shot again? When Alex opened his mouth to say he still had no idea what, Dean looked back at him over his shoulder and gave a nod, as if motioning Alex to follow. 

The latter did not. Not at once. It was sudden, and wrong. 

Alex went out, through patrons in different state of drunkenness. When he was outside, he did see Dean walking away, but not to the parking lot or any place lighted, but into the overgrown field that lay behind Paw's. 

"You are so not going after him," Alex muttered. He knew a thing or two in the business of seduction and usual habits of streetwalkers. "Whatever he's planning, it's not to do the nasty. What if it was some kind of a trap..." 

If ifs were gifts, every day would be Christmas. And where would he be if he didn't rise to the challenge? Dean didn't ring his alarm bell yesterday. And did not look like someone he couldn't take down with both hands. 

Alex looked around, smelt the air. Countryside was so dark, so quiet. When you get used to that, you just can't abide cities with their lights and their noise. There was an old abandoned barn by the copse of low trees a few hundred feet away. He could hear the distant noise of the bar and parking lot, but it was muffled. He looked around once more, peering into the darkness. He could swear he saw Dean walking towards him. 

An instant too late a thrum of someone's presence sang a warning at the base of his skull. Next instant all he sensed was a rush of air as something jumped on him from above - a man. 

He fell to his knees under the weight of the body, then was pushed face down. The bullet or knife he expected to feel never came. He bucked again. His assailant, who must've jumped from the tree beside him, drew back. Alex pushed, hoping for an elbow impact, but connected with nothing. He rolled quickly, covering his face, then suddenly realized the man was now standing over him. 

"What the..." Alex started, but then saw the muzzle of a gun. It looked like a sawed-off shotgun, an old model, maybe even self-remodeled. 

"Thought I'd not figure you out, skunk," he heard Dean saying as if he was spitting. "But I can smell you, damned soul, when I see one." 

"What do you want?" he asked slowly. Alex knew they were too far away from Paw's for anyone to notice. The hustler had lured him well. If Dean was here to put a hit on him, he'd be dead. If he was out for money, it was always a negotiable matter. 

"Don't give me that wide-eyed crap, I know what "you" want. I'm sick of being the world's bitch, and tonight it's going to end," Dean sounded as he was getting angrier as he spoke. 

Something was off in this whole conversation. Like Dean spoke a different language. 

"Don't shoot me, man, I can explain," Alex pleaded, thinking furiously. Just gimme a fucking clue how to trip you up! Slowly, he made a move to sit up, watching the gun. It was nearly touching his chest now. 

"Oh yeah, you smell salt and holy water, you become all pliant and be-my-guest," Dean watched him closely, mouth a thin contemptuous line, and his eyes black. A claw of panic gripped Alex's insides at a distant memory of suffocation and vomiting oil. 

"You are mixing me up with someone, friend," Alex gulped the panic down, forced himself to think. This has nothing to do with aliens and black ops. So the amicable chap he thought was open for a bit of man on man fun, proved to be a psycho. When would he learn? 

Next thing he knew, Dean was giving him a vial. 

"Drink it," he motioned hoarsely. 

"What's this shit?" 

If the mugger decided to rob him, he certainly chose no easy ways. Was it poison? A drug? Making no unnecessary motions, Alex took the vial, trying to catch the smell. There was none. 

This is not how I will die, Alex thought, blood pulsing in his throat. But somewhere deep in his heart, he felt resigned. Dean, on the contrary, seemed to vibrate in expectation of whatever effect the liquid would produce. 

It tasted like warm water.... Swallowing the liquid slowly, Alex expected...something to happen. So evidently was Dean. Alex immediately got a clue on how to turn the tables. He made a swooning motion, and a choking sound as if his throat was constricting. Dean leaned in, gun unwavering. Alex clasped his throat, swaying as if losing balance, his eyes bulging. He saw Dean take a small step back, aiming the shotgun, murmuring something that sounded like Pater Noster. Alex had his hand on the back of his gun, and the moment his fingers closed over the familiar handle, Dean's foot caught on what looked like even ground and he slipped in the mud and fell with a loud thud, his shotgun misfiring into the sky. 

It was not a bullet, for the sound was sharp, yet not deafening, as if a big firecracker had gone off. 

Fortune was a lame one-eyed whore and now her good eye was on Alex. 

In an instant, Alex was up, tripping the other man before he fully straightened, his knee the point of impact. Dean tripped over again but turned around instantly, throwing his legs up at Alex, intending to hit him in the balls or somewhere near as sensitive. But he miscalculated the force of his strike and the fact that Alex was of more solidly built than Dean might have thought. Alex ducked down with a growl while Dean shot up and he was fast - the evidence of being a good fighter. They collided chest to chest and Dean butted Alex in the chin, while Alex delivered a kidney strike that doubled Dean as he fell on his side, fingers loosening on the gun. He almost got the grip back, but Alex was faster, probably because he hardly reacted to the pain Dean thought he was inflicting. He stepped on Dean's wrist, pushing it into the mud, saw the other man writhe and let Alex's boot nudge the gun away. The heartfelt kick that Alex delivered to Dean's side gave him a precious moment to pick up the gun and take aim. 

When Alex pointed the gun at Dean, who was still crouching at his feet, the other laughed. It meant only one thing: Dean was not afraid Alex would shoot him. Either he was completely mad or the gun had not been loaded from the start. No time to check, Alex sent his left fist straight into Dean's face. It was not the first time that brutal force helped him win an argument. As the other man reeled, Alex kicked him once more in the stomach, dropped the gun and hauled the sagging body, throwing him up against the barn wall to stun him more. Then he turned the younger man around, back to chest, and gripped him in a chokehold. Dean's eyes rolled up and his head lolled from the loss of focus. 

"Who's the bitch now, huh?" Alex snarled. 

Dean apparently had a thick skull, for he was not out; he bucked back, butting Alex in the chin, but with not enough force, and Alex, even though blood filled his mouth from a bitten lip, kept Dean vertical in a full body-press, from the back of his thighs up to hip and shoulders. Alex pressed Dean's forehead harder into the wet, dirty wall until Dean made a series of small, quivering swallows and grew still. 

"Now, boy, you start speaking in human tongue, or else I'll break your arm. For starters," rasped Alex into the warm crook behind the other man's ear. 

"Goddamn you, devil's spawn, how did you do that?" 

"Did what??? Not kill you?" 

"Holy ...water... It did not work." 

"Did not work? Against what? Talk sense, damnit!" 

"Not...what. You. You are a demon." He could not see, but Dean sounded incredulous. 

Alex would have been flattered if he had not just survived an armed assault. He nudged Dean into his back with his knee and wrenched his right hand a bit higher than nature's allowed maximum. Looked like sharp pain shocked Dean back to awareness like a slap in the face. He threw his head back and made a sound as if a big bug was stuck in his throat. 

"It will get worse, until you tell me the truth." Clearly victorious Alex felt a pang if he had to ruin the man, mangle his limb, but he had no pity against those threatening his safety. 

"I...told you. I...was a mistake. Let...me go." 

Did he get away from fixes so simply all the time? 

"Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you? Care to explain more? Were you after my money?" 

Dean shook his head furiously. His hair prickled Alex's nose, the man smelt of hot oil and smoke, and like something wild and primal. 

"What then? What have you've got against me? Why did you think I was here after you?" 

"Because I'm hunter." 

"Hunter? Bounty hunter?" Here in this hole? It can't be. Alex should have gone through his pockets. He could still do it if he knocked Dean unconscious. But he didn't want to risk leaving a body in an almost open field, where it could easily be spotted at dawn. 

"No. I find spirits...ghosts, evil...who...hurt..." Dean was rasping out the words with effort, Alex felt his throat move against his forearm. 

"So, you're one of those overgrown Harry Potter fans?" Modern mass entertainment has fucked up the minds of the new generation, Alex concluded to himself critically. Seriously, Alex could not explain this assault otherwise. 

"Think more of the Constantine variety," wheezed Dean. 

"You just have to keep on goading me, right?" Alex fought the temptation to do something especially painful to this smartass to compensate for his moments of panic. 

"No, owh..." Dean broke off, as Alex applied a bit more pressure on his windpipe. 

"Oh, it hurts? Your fault! I gave you enough time to explain!" 

Alex felt the struggle was gone from Dean's body. He could take out his gun and fully control this freak, but he wanted to prolong full body contact. It wasn't even sexual, it was about conquest. The smell, the rush of blood. Such memories were nestled like imprints in the archive of his memory. But Dean still had not told him anything consistent or reasonable. 

Alex needed to see Dean's face. It often helped to wrap up things. 

He jerked the other man around, his forearm firmly under Dean's chin, his knee in his stomach. With his left hand he gripped Dean's chin and turned to peer at him, as if to find any clue to what had just happened. Nothing animated the sharp, smooth face; yet his eyes--mournful and menacing--glimmered. 

"I see no regrets, eh? A pity you'll have to go, pretty," Alex realized he said it aloud only when he saw Dean's lips move. 

"You kill me, they will find. They'll know..." he was pushing the words as if they were stones out of his mouth. Maybe it was empty babble as Dean was fighting for his survival. Alex wavered in his intent, his pressure on Dean's throat unchanging. The last word he could make out sounded like "Don't". Dean apparently realized that Death was not just a rumor for the young. The shudder that signified terminal oxygen deprivation touched him again and Alex felt the familiar tremors and tiny sounds of anguish that were nearly constant now, in spite of the weak effort Dean was still making to control them. 

When Alex released Dean's throat and pushed him away and onto the ground, he made sure that it hurt. Dean lay there for some moments, limbs splayed, coughing soundly, then curled onto his side, possibly awaiting another assault. But as it did not come, he sat up slowly, cradling his right arm and wiping his mouth. Alex knew Dean would feel his arm for a day, but it was nothing irreparable. While Dean was composing himself, Alex picked up his shot-gun again. It was a serious weapon, but too weighty for his own stealthy and silent manner. By the feel of it, the magazine was not empty. 

"Who are "they"? Who are you working with?" Alex returned to the unspecified threat that made the short hairs stand up on the back of his neck, his blood warming in response. He couldn't let this bonehead go before he found out. 

"Others. Hunters." 

"I'm sick of your babble. What friggn' hunters? What side are they on? I'll start shooting if you don't speak," he aimed Dean's gun at his right shoulder. "It IS loaded, you crazy son of a bitch!" Alex growled menacingly. He fought an urge to jump on Dean. 

"No," Dean threw his good arm up. "Put it down, man. It's not what you think it is!" 

"Whatever it is, it will hurt, right?" This was fun. Nothing gave Alex more of a rush than training an assailant's own gun back at him. 

"Yes, but it's just salt. It's powerful against spirits, phantoms, ghoulies..." 

Salt? Like ... the salt they put on French fries? 

"Oh, so I shouldn't have put up a fight?" There was a grunt, yet Dean ignored the needling remark. Alex watched him getting to his feet slowly, leaning against the wall for support. The guy was not lily-livered, Alex would give him that. 

"It's not just empty talk! I took you for an evil-doer. Think, maybe you invoked something, a curse, a spell... Read aloud a book on ancient lore?" 

Lore? Where had he learned words like that? 

"So what evil did I do to you? Do I know you? We met before?" Alex nearly added Did I kill a family member? 

But Dean shook his head furiously. 

"No, NO! I'm on my own side. I go for all things supernatural. Saving people, hunting things...I...rushed at you. I'm sorry." Dean sounded helpless and just a bit embarrassed. 

"Sorry? SORRY? You listen to yourself, you nutcase!" Alex was still wound up tight as a tripwire, the desire to pound his fists repeatedly into something solid almost overwhelming. He tried to draw calming breaths to center himself, but the helpless outrage slithered and coiled in him like a great, black serpent. It squeezed his insides every time he thought about what could have happened if this damn Exorcist Jr had not slipped. Had fired the gun. Silver bullet or salt or whatever, Alex could have been badly injured, at best. 

"Okay, just...put down the gun, I..trust you, you are not them. But something must have happened. Not with intent. Maybe you have something on you," Dean spoke hurriedly. 

Alex made himself wait for more. He had seen many things that would have driven others screaming crazy, and had this guy been after something paranormal, Alex would have been more intrigued. But he was more of a clown, and he got the treatment he deserved. 

"Maybe...maybe it wasn't always so. Something unusual. Or maybe you have an evil eye. Maybe you noticed that people around you get hurt, suffer accident...." Dean tried to gesticulate, but his arm apparently hurt, he winced, but did not stop looking at Alex, with some wild hope. 

Happens all the time, Alex nearly cheered, but it was not something a man of his occupation would boast. Goddamn, he need not be reminded of his fuck ups, and look, God chose this deranged kid for his messenger! So he had to wrap it up. 

"Your time is up, and you have not persuaded me," Alex was disappointed. "Stand still, look pretty," he pointed to Dean warningly, who made no attempt to move, his eyes closely following every move Alex made. Alex opened the drum, shook out four shells into his palm, and into his pocket. He would look at them later. When he tucked the gun under his arm, Dean issued a sharp cry of protest. 

"Give it back! It belongs to my family." 

Alex could not care less. It was humiliating enough to be caught unawares, the more - by some milksop hustler. Taking the gun which did not look costly was a lame payback, but it added to Alex's petty revenge. 

"You already took everything from me, you greedy scumsucker, isn't that enough?" Dean's yell was full of emotion and frustration. 

Alex couldn't let this particular accusation pass; he's heard it too often, hurled at him like a stone at a dog. Why did people always blame him for their fuck ups? 

"When do you get off? What did I take? I didn't even give you a proper beating to teach you a lesson! So find a doctor, or find a job! It's not anybody else's fault but your own that you're a loser!" 

"You still don't get it! You! It's all YOUR fault! You brought me the spell of bad luck! The moment you set foot into Paw's, my luck gave out! It became worse when I first "saw" you. I "felt" it! Like a hot current up my spine!" 

"Maybe you chose to sit too close to the heater fan?" 

"Now that's funny, you trickster! But what else is it if it's not a spell? I have lost in one day what I've won in two weeks! Next day, I had to cheat, to keep at least something, to move on from here. And the next moment those hillbillies tripped me up like a three year old, screaming about how they've been shafted. You were always there, always helpful. It must clearly be connected, and today was the last straw! I've lost my last fifty dollars. It...sent me over the edge. Right here, I fell on even ground, instead of tackling you. And... they pawned my car in the morning...." Short of breath, Dean finally finished his litany. 

Despite his resentment, Alex looked at him, feeling something like...sympathy. He knew how need drove you to desperate measures. The kid was obviously on a breadline; it triggered, but of course did not justify, the breakdown. Goddamn, he sounded persuasive, even if overdramatic. But what could he do? Burst into flames, grow a tail only to make Dean feel better? 

"Sorry to have failed your expectations, but I'm not a wizard. I can't give you what you lost. Hell, if I knew how to rule luck, I'd not waste my precious talent on a delusional roadhouse hustler!" 

"Well, fine whatever...when you go to hell for dabbling with black magic, you'll remember me!" At this childish treat Alex could not help but bark out a mocking laugh. 

"Whatever...and fuck you, f-u-c-k you, pecker!" At that Dean turned away, good hand pressed to his face. There was something in his voice - disdain, and also as if he felt helpless to explain something. It made Alex doubt his mockery. Maybe the guys HAD seen some boogey men and found the best explanation in demons. 

"Why make it such a tragedy? You can go some place else, try and win some cash back, for starters," Alex offered then, all reason. Damn kid, he made him feel...responsible for a string of pure coincidences. What did it say about the power of his appeal? 

"I'm not leaving without my car." This was stated with steely resolution, even though Alex did not expect Dean to keep talking to him. 

Ah, the car. How could Alex forget. 

"I ... can give you a ride some place else. I was planning to move on tomorrow anyway." Now, who had a problem of letting go? Alex peered at the wet, dirty young man and he knew why. He wanted to touch him again. Despite everything. 

"No way I'm riding with you anywhere," Dean raised his hand as if he wanted to ward off some evil. Then he shook his head, his words a ragged whisper, "I have nothing to blow my brains out with. Might as well as go put my ass up for sale." 

There was a pause then. Dean looked up at him with an expression that mingled despair and accusation. Alex did not look away. 

Well, Alex pondered, you never know when you lose and when you win. He held Dean's stare and quirked his brow suggestively, his body language was making the rest obvious. He just wanted to fuck something, get this insane rage and death lust, whatever it was, the hell out of his system and get on with his life. 

Dean stared daggers at him when realization hit that what he'd uttered in desperation, Alex was encouraging. 

"So NOW I see the light: all this time you were stalking me and dreaming how to make me your bitch?" 

"You're the one who put it like that, but basically, yes. I would say you have greatly misinterpreted my intent." 

"That's SO never gonna happen, you faggot!" 

"You call me a faggot once more, I'll punch your nose in, sweetpeach," Alex stated calmly. 

"Bullying is not getting you any closer to me!" 

"Being an uptight smartass is not getting you closer to any money!" Alex reminded. 

"That's just a load of bullshit, I'll manage, I always do!" Dean turned his back on Alex, started walking away slowly. He limped slightly, hands in front, folded on his chest. 

Stubborn fuck. Alex's cheeks heated with rage and it was not even about sex, it was about people throwing their lives away because of some idiotic moral or belief. 

"You gonna walk all the way to where? Stay on the road, I hear there are werewolves in the area!" 

The reply was Dean throwing his arm up and giving him the finger, shouting: "Oh I'll walk on all right. You just keep away from me!" 

"Right. Get away. Only where? Who needs you? You are worthless! They put you out of your motel, right? Or wait...you never WERE in a motel. Your car, they took it. I don't know why you needed all that money, but surely not to bring back to sick ol' daddy," it would have been humiliating to shout like that, but Alex felt the rush of excitement, that quickly swallowed anger at not getting what he wanted. What he was saying was dangerous because it was bare truth. With the last one he must have hit the young man right into something that hurt a lot. For instead of walking away, Dean halted, then turned and walked back slowly, as if through water or as if he was pulled against his will. Alarm made Alex move his hand slowly behind his back, fingers on the holster button, wondering why Dean had to foil his dramatic exit. 

When Dean was close enough, his face was wet, eyes bright with anger and what must have been grief. Alex swallowed the memory with a taste of bile. In the dark open gaze, he saw at last the silent plea, the vivid anguish before accusations followed: 

"Don't you DARE mention my family. You don't know me, you don't know things I've seen! You don't know THEM, don't know what they went through! So shut the fuck UP!" 

In a flash, Alex was visited by a brilliant idea: maybe this guy's family had been abducted, but his subconscious masked the abductors as demons? This was his vision of the drama. If only he could learn what had happened. 

Dean, as if in a stupor, kept looking first at him, then past Alex, as if there was something behind him. The wind rose, sudden gusts started to whip their faces, but Dean didn't squint against it. The sky was heavy, the clouds had swallowed the pale sickle of a moon. It was disturbing. Suddenly Alex did not feel safe. He wanted out. He trusted his instincts. 

"All right," he said slowly, in an even voice, as if talking to a lonely child. He did not need another breakdown or a scuffle. Look where his mindless self-indulgence had brought him already. "I don't know shit. Walk on then." 

At the sound of his voice, Dean seemed to snap out of his daze. 

"How much?" Dean asked brusquely, in an even tone, but he still had to learn to trade so that people believed he really DID NOT care. He did not look at Alex, but at the ground, then tugged his jacket tighter around himself. 

"A hundred. For starters. You'll get your gun back when we're done," Alex promised. Dean didn't ask to expand on "starters", but he perked up hearing about his gun. 

"Where?" 

"Some place warm. And with a bed." Alex still felt a bit dizzy from how things took a Uturn. He thought Dean would trade. Offer a blowjob instead. But he was too proud to bargain. Or maybe he still thought Alex had some mystic power. Or maybe he was tired of this shit and cornered. 

"Your place?" 

Alex nodded. He had a plan. He would get to the bottom of this, and not just literally. He would go slowly, warming the guy up. He only had to learn the guy was worth the trouble and the money. 

Wordlessly, resigned, Dean turned to walk ahead of him through the track back to the road, his back a straight line and his head high. 

**_CHAPTER 4_**

Alex felt stupid relief wash over him when they were back to the safe shelter of his car. He noted they were out less than an hour, but he felt as if it was all night. He tossed Dean's gun onto the floor as if it was a worthless trophy. He turned on the heater. His feet were wet and his left shoulder throbbed from the fall. Alex tasted his own split lip, his crotch felt pleasantly heavy nonetheless. 

He could smell the young man beside him, wet earth and stale sweat. The back of his neck was matted with dirt, strands of dry grass on his elbows. Dean's lower lip was swollen and the left side of his face bruised nicely where Alex had rubbed his face into the barn wall. His brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. The skin below his eyes was tender and dark, echoing the hollows beneath his cheeks. How could anyone resist such a combination of virility and sulking vulnerability? 

"By the way, Dean, has anyone told you that you look awful?" he asked as if by the way, starting the car. 

"Not everyone is as considerate as you. Why the fuck do you want to screw me then?" 

,,I tend to get hot for people who come to beat me up." Alex could not help but gulp down a smirk when he said that. 

Dean still did not look his way, wrapping his arms tighter around his chest, his whole pose demonstrating his repugnance. "I knew you were a pervert first time I saw you." 

Alex did not think Dean was telling the truth, but he did not argue. "Cheer up. It's not like I'm going to tie you up. I'll be fairly gentle." 

"Oh, I believe you're a sweetheart. Only brutalizing me got you some wood." 

"Says who? The guy who gets his kicks in jumping from trees on strangers, sprinkling holy water?" 

That earned him a hot glare. 

"Man, get off that, I've already explained!" 

"That you are demon-hunter?" 

"I...was a demon hunter. I'm out of the loop right now. But doesn't mean I'm not taking precautions!" 

"Like making crosses out of sticks and throwing them everywhere you go?" 

"That helps, but what's best is rock salt and..." 

"And an ash-tree stake?" Alex added knowingly. "And a garlic girdle. You don't happen to wear one?" 

"If you want to mock me all night long, just add up a twenty," Dean's patience ran out. 

"Are you really that good? I doubt it. So quit playing dumb!" 

"Stop talking to me as if I'm a half-wit! If you don't believe me, just shut up!" Dean growled, giving Alex the first direct eye contact. He looked like a fierce cub, and somehow still gave an impression that Alex did him a great injustice. 

"Don't yell at me, boy!" Alex warned not loud, but in his best menacing growl. 

"Don't call me boy, dammit," Dean countered, but his voice was lower, toned down. "I'm 27 years old, I'm my own man!" 

Left arm holding the wheel, Alex turned to look at him, with an edged smile. "Blow me, you kids get younger-looking every day." 

"Look at yourself, godfather." Dean returned, apparently the retort made it out of his mouth before he realized he just paid Alex what could pass as a compliment. Despite that, bickering was starting to annoy Alex. 

"Stop acting like I'm gonna take your cherry, or I'll kick you out and off you can go, maybe those truckers will offer you a twenty... each." 

Dean did not look like he preferred that option. Slow hiss of his breath as he exhaled told Alex he was having a hard time coping with his situation. 

"Maybe I'm untapped. It would change anything?" 

Alex took a controlled breath. No, he wanted to take no one's cherry... Not any more. Once was a good lesson for him. It was too tame, too lame, and they wanted to see you again. He looked at Dean. He did not hide pure evaluation in his look. 

"If you were untapped, you'd have never agreed to fuck for money," he concluded. 

"Yeah. Right," Dean said, just because Alex already made it clear his word must be the last. "A like is drawn to like? So I'm talking to a pro?" 

Alex made no effort to conceal his white-knuckled hold on the steering wheel. Yes, he had a lot of experience in getting what he wanted or getting out of a deal alive. It was not always pleasant or went by his rules. But he was not going to indulge this milksop with his autobiography. 

"You really don't wanna know." 

"Or what?" Dean smirked, stretching the limits of Alex's patience. 

"Or you won't be able to move your bow-legs," Alex snapped. 

"As if you were the first one to make it into a joke," Dean parried. 

"Ah, you want to tell me they were straight once?" Alex felt like he was thrown back in time, when pre-fuck banter was so ridiculously infuriating, yet peculiarly exciting. Mulder talked a lot before and during fucking but Mulder's complexity was only exceeded by his vulnerability and verbosity. It was too early to judge Dean's mental complexity, but if talking meant covering his vulnerability, Dean had a shitload to hide. 

Their eyes held for about three seconds, Dean was the first to look away. He cleared his throat and turned up the radio. Someone was singing in a seesaw shrill, "I Ain't Ever Satisfied." Dean whistled along artfully and Krycek noted that at least he had just learned that the topic of Dean's legs was apparently banned and could be used to shut him up. 

They drove in the opposite direction from Waterry, to Charity. 

"You hungry?" 

"No," Dean cut off with a sharp look "let's not turn this into a date". 

Alex knew the drill, and he knew the discomfort. With all the business approach and bravado, Dean wasn't a regular hooker. It made Alex only want him to prolong the foreplay. 

"You want a drink? I need some gas anyway," Alex asked as if by the way. There was a gas station with a tiny mall at the entrance to Charity. 

"Yeah," Dean reluctantly admitted, he had to clear his throat again. 

"What?" 

"Anything with a kick, no soda," Dean shrugged. 

Tough shit, Alex smirked when he got out of the car. He filled the tank, then went to a mini-mall, picking up a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He thought it linked well with Dean's all American macho myth. The he added a bottle of water, two Mars bars and a three pack of condoms. Looked like the shop had no lube, and even if there was some, Alex did not want to flaunt his intent. He'll figure it out at the hotel. If nothing handy there, Dean will have to take it the dry way. Let him consider it another sign of his poor luck. 

In the car, Alex unscrewed the cap, took one good sip. He was impervious to alcohol, but this was also a small bonding ritual. And a gulp of whiskey would soften him. Dean's defiance abraded him. The guy screwed up royally, and still was acting like he was King of the Hill. 

He passed the bottle to Dean. Dean gave him that look again, half suspicious half as if someone was sitting on his shoulder, then took the bottle. 

"Don't worry--I don't have anything contagious." 

"I trust you," Dean said mockingly, and took a long unflinching sip before he realized that Alex was joking. Alex caught him then looking keenly at the chocolate bars. 

"You can eat them." 

Alex expected more defiance. But Dean probably realized that false pride would not earn him anything, so he tilted his head back and stuffed half of a bar in his mouth. Crunchy sweetness, salt underneath, chewing he looked happy for a brief moment. 

"Hunters don't eat enough either?" 

"I'm still growing," Dean retorted, his mouth full. 

Alex swallowed a smirk. He did not ask where. But when Dean took another long sip of alcohol, he took the bottle from him as if for a gulp, then capped it and threw it behind the seat. 

,,It's not fun if you're shit-faced," he noted tersely. 

"You bitch," he could clearly read Dean's lips moving as he cursed under his breath. 

It was some comfort that Dean looked a lot less composed now than he sounded, his face flushed and his fingers twitching. Maybe he was finally starting to realize that for someone who tried to jump on Alex's neck from a tree and shoot him, he was getting extremely gentlemanly treatment. 

...to be continued

  
 

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Title:   **So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect), ch. 3 and 4**   
Author:  Griva   [email/website]   
Details:   **Work-In-Progress**  |  **R**  |  **33k**  |  **03/06/08**   
Pairings:  Crossover Pairing  |  Alex Krycek / Dean Winchester   
Category:  Story, Adventure, AU (Alternate Universe), Crossover  |  X Files / Supernatural   
Summary:  When Alex Krycek met Dean Winchester, it was not luck. He deserved it.   
Notes:  Look at those two gorgeous guys. Then think "out of the box" and enjoy the story.   
  
  
  
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